<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Next Time by sugarplumfairy</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996764">Next Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarplumfairy/pseuds/sugarplumfairy'>sugarplumfairy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Body Worship, Deepthroating, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dramatic Irony.. Sweet Bitter Dramatic Irony, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Oral Sex, Post-Battle Adrenaline Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Vaginal Sex, dildo blowjob, the character death tag is for chapter 3.. and..... yknow, this spans from late ARR to end of dragonsong, well. this fic is called "next time" and..... yknow.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:14:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996764</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarplumfairy/pseuds/sugarplumfairy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They find time for each other in the moments between moments. They save things for later because they think they can. They love easily, they love slowly, they love with the leisure of youth and the invincibility of warriors.</p><p>Twice Lord Haurchefant Greystone makes a promise, the third time Paliea keeps it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Haurchefant Greystone/Original Female Character(s), Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ishgardian Hospitality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yeah so you know how the last fic I posted I said "oh i just started ffxiv (: we'll see how it goes" well yeah. yeah.</p><p>i'm praying fervently for the motivation to finish this ambitious endeavor but please be patient lol</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It's cold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, it's fucking freezing. "Cold" is forgetting your jacket and being out in the Twelveswood later than you'd expected, crouched down in damp grass in naught but your pantalettes and the camise that had looked cuter in your inn room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Paliea is not in the Twelveswood after the sun is set. She's bracing herself against the wind and snow staring down the unforgiving chasm at Witchdrop, and it's midnight. And she's fucking freezing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyelids droop, and for a moment she thinks that it wouldn't be so bad to succumb to the cold that bites harder than the cuts on her skin. It wouldn't be so bad to just curl up here in the snow and let that be the end of things. She's so tired.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Plumeria," Lord Haurchefant says, and she forces her eyes to open as much as she can manage against the blizzard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry, I…" she drifts off as a stronger gust comes and she wraps her arms around herself as a meager shield. Everything hurts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant looks her up and down with worry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It IS just worry,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she tells herself. No need for her addled brain to start jumping to conclusions. All the same, she can't help but shyly admire the striking figure that he cuts in his armor, at home in the snow with his fur-lined coat and heavy pauldrons.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Let us quit this place, Miss Paliea," he says.  "Pray visit me at Camp Dragonhead when you recuperate."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns to leave, takes a few steps, and… pauses. He turns back to her. Clears his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Upon further thought, if you would prefer it… would you accompany me back?" he asks. "At the least I can prepare a room for you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The offer sparks enough heat that a little sensation returns to her numbed cheeks. Her heart jumps despite herself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That would-" Paliea's voice comes out like a croak and she clears her throat. "That would be amenable."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant smiles before he turns back around. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop reading into it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks to herself as she follows his large footprints through the whirling snow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's just Ishgardian hospitality.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The room is… nice. It's nothing fancy, but Camp Dragonhead is not a fancy place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's no Hourglass, but it has walls, a bed, and a door. And, most importantly, it's warm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paliea examines a lump that's forming on her shin, foot propped up on the ottoman. That'll be a nasty bruise later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Three sharp raps against the open doorframe and she jumps, whips her head around as she clutches at her hammering heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lord Haurchefant steps inside the room. He's still in his full armor - he'd likely come straight from giving his reports. "Apologies, I did not intend to startle you," he says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His pale hair is wet with melted snow and sweat and blood, plastered to his forehead. Paliea's heart only races faster.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I… I must still be a little on edge," she says against the dryness in her throat. "You know how it is."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Indeed I do." Haurchefant looks around the room as if inspecting it for quality. "I hope you've found everything to your liking thus far?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, yes," Paliea answers, too quickly. She stops herself. "Yes, everything is quite wonderful, thank you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant walks up next to her, runs his hand over the wool blanket on the bed, the one he'd lent from his own quarters to better ward off the chill. "Are you sure?" He turns his head to look at her. "Is there </span>
  <em>
    <span>naught</span>
  </em>
  <span> else you require?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His proximity has her blushing. He smells faintly of cologne, masked by soot and sulfur - remnants of the battle. "I- I don't think so, milord."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns fully then, and gives her a once-over from head to toe and back up. It's not the concerned look from Witchdrop, but rather… one of appraisal. Paliea resists the urge to squirm under it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Miss Paliea," Haurchefant says, and the timbre of his voice, much deeper than his usual pleasant tenor, sends a shudder through her that she can't suppress. "I'm no fool. Don't think I haven't seen your sly glances."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her face burns hotter and she hides behind a hand as she fumbles for a reply, mortified. "Oh gods. I'm going to go bury myself in the snow now. Pardon me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs, </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughs,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and takes a single step to place himself in the path of her escape. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Allow me to reiterate, my dear, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> desire is too great an ask in return for your services to the friends of House Fortemps." As Haurchefant pauses, the meaning behind his words sinks in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Surely… Surely he can't be suggesting-?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Now, I will ask again, and I trust you will be truthful this time," he says with the same easy smile that had made her heart skip upon their first meeting, "Plumeria, is there aught you desire?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The invitation is there, though she can scarcely believe it. And yet the words catch in her throat when she tries to voice it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I…" Her heart thunders in her ears, so loud that she's sure he must hear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes? I will see personally to your every request, but you must </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask </span>
  </em>
  <span>it first."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She screws her eyes shut as if that will give her more courage. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>I desire you."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The silence stretches on and her stomach goes queasy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then, the sound of the door closing. She opens her eyes, panicked - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did he leave? Had she misread the situation?</span>
  </em>
  <span> - but her fears dissipate when she finds him still there, hand on the latch, smile cresting his handsome face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wouldn't do to have our neighbors stop by," he says by way of explanation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head, not trusting her voice to remain steady as he takes a step closer. Another step. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods, he's tall,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks. It's not a difficult feat when compared to her, but she's struck by it when he leans down, and down, and threads his fingers through her hair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She can't help but gasp, even though she'd expected it, when his lips meet hers. His other hand comes to rest at her waist and she strains upwards to chase more of him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tastes like salt and blood, and she's sure he tastes the same on her tongue. It's messy, gets messier as the hand on her waist travels down to palm at her ass and her hands wander from their shocked grip on his forearms to his chest, his shoulders, his neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant breaks the kiss first, as loathe as Paliea is to do so, and leans further to whisper in her ear, "As ravishing as you look in this sorry excuse for armor, I'd prefer to see you out of it." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That draws a laugh from her, one that he mirrors before he occupies his mouth at the base of her exposed throat. His ministrations make it difficult to find the buckles of the harness but eventually she gets them, one by one, and as soon as her breasts are exposed they're again covered by his large hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She arches her back into his touch with a shallow moan and her legs hit the edge of the bed - she hadn’t realized they’d traveled that far. She allows him to guide her down onto it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paliea lifts her head when he doesn't follow, only to find him working at the closures of his own armor. Not one to be idle, she uses the time to shed her boots and subligar - and by the time she's done Haurchefant's grown impatient with his own trappings.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He's down to his undershirt and thermal leggings, and Paliea decides that's good enough for now. She pushes herself up to a sitting position and reaches forward for his waistband before he has a chance to delay her any longer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her slender hand reaches down for him, and when her fingers wrap around his already half-hard length he shudders and melts into her, a hand grasping at her shoulder for support. His forehead presses to her bare skin, hot breath against her collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paliea laughs shallowly and turns her head to press a kiss to the side of his neck. She strokes him once, his girth comfortable in the cleft of her palm, and the hum that rises in his throat resonates along her bones deliciously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She leans down, eager for a taste as her free hand starts to tug down his leggings. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then his strong fingers wrap themselves in her hair and twist hard, preventing her from going any further.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant tut-tuts at her, but when he speaks his voice is raw with arousal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Now, now. We can do that next time," he says. "I think our gallant heroine deserves her reward."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart skips, partially from the insinuation of a reward - but mostly from the insinuation of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>next time.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls her farther back until she acquiesces and lets him lay her back against the sheets. Then his hands are on her inner thighs, smooth over the sensitive skin there to butterfly her open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She wants to hide away, embarrassed by the obvious wet spot at the center of her smalls, but Haurchefant holds her fast. He waits until she looks down at him, gold eyes on silver, to lave his tongue over the edge of the ivory scales on her thighs, up to her hips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's no sensation there, of course. But it's the sheer act of it, the reverence with which he does it, that lights her on fire. His glacial eyes watch her, and don’t waver even as he dips his head down further and strokes his tongue over her clothed folds in one strong, sure motion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>pressure</span>
  </em>
  <span> is infuriating, not quite enough with that final barrier between them, and in response she grinds her hips upwards, goading him to lay her bare. Instead he chuckles with his nose - his beautiful arch of a nose - pressed up into her, and his hot breath is not quite as hot as it should be. Not as close as she wants it to be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She growls and hooks her fingers into the band of her smalls herself, but Haurchefant snatches her wrists and holds them fast.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, fine,” he says. And then he says no more, because his teeth are occupied at the soaked center of the fabric, pulling them away from her while his hands bind hers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paliea lifts her legs to assist him, but he gives up after shimmying her smalls halfway down her thighs and releases her to pull them the rest of the way. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t get a chance to spread her legs invitingly, or tease him with more words, or do much of anything in the second between Haurchefant flinging her panties out of the way and him leaning down to devour her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, gods, Haurchefant!” The words come unbidden, a pure reaction to the feeling of his rough tongue over her soaked folds, dragging over her swollen clit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And no, he doesn't just </span>
  <em>
    <span>lick </span>
  </em>
  <span>like many an eager young lover. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>feasts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, tongue pressed deep to lap at her juices like a parched dog without breaching her entrance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, for her starved hole he treats her with one of his thick, calloused fingers - a slight thing compared to the cock she'll take shortly, but all the same she shudders and quivers around it. He adds another and she cries out, fingers firm in his hair. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches his tongue down to catch the fresh wave of slick that drips from her, her body's accommodation of his intrusion, and stays there as he scissors her open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Haurchefant, please," she whines. She looks down and sees how the tip of his cock weeps for attention, and her pussy throbs at the thought of how it will stretch her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant lifts his head from between her legs, lips shiny with spit and with her fluids. "I simply wish to ensure you're ready, love," he says. "Not to brag, but we've quite the difference here."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She holds his face between her hands. "Have you seen an Au Ra man, my lord? Worry not, nature knows what she's doing."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When his fingers slide out of her she almost regrets stopping him, but soon enough she's flipped onto her hands and knees and feels his thick weight in the cleft of her ass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She rocks her hips back against him, revels in the wet slide and the grunt of pleasure that he makes. And then his large hands clap on both sides of her and his thumbs spread her open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The tip of his cock pushes against her and makes no headway, and for a moment she goes cold in the fear that she'd miscalculated, that Elezen </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>bigger than Au Ra. And then he breaches, and the fear melts away into the pleasurable haze of being stretched open on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He drives forward, not particularly rough, but not carefully either. She appreciates his trust that she won't break apart, even as a broken moan tumbles out of her when he seats himself fully inside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant pauses. Not for her own comfort it seems, as he drapes his body over her back with the sort of sigh one might heave when stepping into the bath. His hand sneaks down to her lower abdomen, presses flat before it begins to slowly trace-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He traces the outline of himself through her body, faint as it may be. She groans with arousal at the realization and buries her forehead in the sheets. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You like that?" he whispers at her cheekbone. "You like being so full with my cock?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He snaps his hips back and slams them forward, and she yelps at the impact. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You still think I'm just like your Au Ra men?" he continues. She can almost hear his wicked little grin. Another brutally hard thrust. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She moans face down into the sheets, an embarrassingly broken sound. He pulls her up by her hair, long pink locks firm in his grip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't hear you." He slams into her again, a little faster this time, and the choked gasp that escapes her is enough to drive him to madness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kami, Menphina, yes,” she moans, unsure of which god to pray to as he picks up his pace, no doubt riding the residual waves of the adrenaline from their battle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hand comes down firm on her ass, a resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>smack</span>
  </em>
  <span> that makes her rut back against him in desperation. The pain ignites the last bit of battle fever that she’d been suppressing, and she feels her heart start to race as the smell of sweat and blood, dried and reawoken, starts to build between them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hand that had spanked her reaches down to squeeze her breast and his voice is rough and possessive against her skin, a quality she hadn’t thought him capable of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not here right now,” he says, in between heavy breaths of exertion. “The only name I want to hear from your lips is </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He punctuates it with a hard, deep thrust and his name tumbles from her - “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Haurchefant”</span>
  </em>
  <span> - as requested. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His grip relaxes on her hair and she presses her cheek back down to the mattress, trying to match his pace with her own hips while her mind goes blank in a haze of pleasure. “Hold yourself up,” Haurchefant says. “I want to hear your lovely voice, little songbird.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paliea pushes weakly and the muscles in her upper arms burn, holding her up but trembling with the effort, spent from the draw weight of her bow. “Haurchefant, I can’t,” she says on the coattails of a moan. “I’m so sore…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then his strong arm is beneath her and she’s pulled upright, flush against him as he continues to pound her hard enough that her breasts bounce with each thrust. She gets impossibly tighter at this angle, knees bent on either side of him and tail lashing out for something to hold on to. His sweat stings in the open cuts over his body but he grits his teeth against it and keeps going, keeps chasing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Among the obscene sounds of their union Paliea’s voice calls softly, “O-oh, Haurche--” as her tail finds the arm that he’s braced against the bed and coils tight around it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He somehow finds the spare energy to laugh. “Good?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she sighs. Her arm reaches back for him and her fingers seek purchase in his hair. “Yes, yes!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rearranges her legs to carry her weight and lets her relax against him so he can grope at her breast once more, bury his nose in the dip of her collarbone and focus on what yet lingers of her floral perfume, on the wet slide of his cock into her soaked cunt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you close, my dear?” he whispers into her flushed skin. He slows down to a near standstill as he feels his end fast approaching, but he must be a gracious host and let the lady go first. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tilts her head back against his shoulder and nods with a broken moan, too blissed out for words as she fucks herself on him as much as she can. “Help… help, please, Haurchefant…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leaves her soft breast to press two fingers to her swollen clit and rub her in fast, tight circles. She near shrieks and ruts on him faster, harder, desperate like an animal in heat and moaning like one. And when she’s on the edge, when he feels her start to pulse around him, he gives her what she wants and thrusts up into her with an equal fervor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s enough to break her. She digs her nails into his thigh, hard enough to draw blood as she comes, along with her rose lips in the shape of a perfect “O,” before she devolves into a string of quiet curses peppered with his name as she shudders and flutters around his cock. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t stop, forces her to ride out her orgasm because he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so fucking close</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then he crests the edge, spills white and hot inside of her. The duet they weave together is a thing of beauty, the moans and the curses and the praises all in one obscene harmony. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She slumps back against him, boneless, generous chest heaving as she catches her breath and as he softens and slips out of her stretched entrance. She turns so her cheek is against his chest, her hot breath fanning over his skin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Through the fog of her bliss one thing keeps nagging at her, and maybe it’s just the endorphins that remove her filter, but… </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you mean what you said earlier?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers thread through her hair. “Which one? I recall a lot of cursing and dirty orders. I hope you didn’t take all that to heart.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paliea laughs, a giddy and breathless laugh. “Of course not. I meant the thing about ‘next time.’”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” he says, his jolly demeanor now returned. “Well, I certainly had fun. And if you were pleased with my performance, full glad am I to provide an encore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Paliea sighs and closes her eyes, heavy with exhaustion that's now all-encompassing. "I'd press you for an encore tonight, but I don't think I could stay awake long enough."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Haurchefant laughs and presses a sweaty kiss to her forehead. "Worry not, Miss Paliea. We'll have plenty of time for </span>
  <em>
    <span>next time</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hastily dresses and strips the sheets off her bed himself, bound for the camp launderer, but by the time he returns she's already fast asleep and curled up in the wool blanket that smells like him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sanctuary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"He swears by the Fury he’ll tear Ul’dah apart, burn down that rotten Syndicate and anyone else who had a hand in this. But not until he’s done putting her back together."</p><p>Post Bloody Banquet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fire roars and crackles in the hearth. The chronometer on the wall ticks. Tick, tick, tick, tick.</p><p>Haurchefant’s quill scratches on his paper but makes no progress on the letter he’s supposed to be drafting. Scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch, a manifestation of his unquietable nerves as his eyes fix upon the door.</p><p>The wind howls outside, hard enough that the door trembles. <em> She’s out there, somewhere. </em> He curses himself for leaving it to his patrols to search for them - it should be <em> him </em> out there. He has half a mind to go right now, but there are too many variables and he could pass them, he could miss them if they were already en route, or--</p><p>His pen wears a hole in the parchment and leaves a deep scratch on the wood beneath. Yaelle, silent up to this point, gives him a sidelong glance and opens her mouth as if to speak. </p><p>The door bursts inward, and with it a frigid blast of air and ice. He doesn’t pay it any mind - he sees only <em> her. </em> He almost knocks his chair over in his rush to stand up.</p><p>She’s wearing one of those Gold Saucer novelty uniforms, a black corset and scandalous pantalettes, the bunny ears caked over with snow. Her long pink hair is wet and heavy, arms wrapped around herself and stiff from exposure to the blizzard. Her makeup is melted and frozen back onto her skin, but the listless expression on her face tells him that she’s long past caring. </p><p>He imagines her preening in the mirror, dusting her face with blush before the party, the banquet that was supposed to be a celebration for <em> her. </em> She would never have imagined that she’d be forced to wear that costume all the way back across Eorzea, a mockery and reminder of how wrong it had all gone.</p><p>It’s enough to make his heart shatter. </p><p>She’s flanked by a shivering Alphinaud, but she’s more frozen than he, in her scant bustier and sheer tights. She’d dressed as if it were her nameday celebration, as it should have been. </p><p>He takes his coat off of its stand and goes to meet them in four long strides, throws it over her bare shoulders. There’s no light behind her eyes - he might as well be tending to a corpse. It’s a minor miracle that she <em> isn’t </em>one. </p><p>Yaelle breaks the silence. “I’ll fetch the other patrols in your stead, ser,” she says.</p><p>He nods his gratitude and she leaves, and the four of them are alone in his office. Another gust rattles the walls, and he herds them towards the door. </p><p>“It’s just a bit further, but let’s get you to the intercessory,” he says. “It’s more sheltered and comfortable in there.”</p><p>Alphinaud nods and wordlessly trudges back out into the snow. Paliea trails behind - she reaches a small, pale hand from under his coat and touches his arm. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.</p><p>He sees them to the side of the building, sees them received by the guard at the door before he leaves. </p><hr/><p>Medguistl tries to shoo him out of the kitchen, and while he wouldn’t expect any less from her he stands his ground. </p><p>He knows how to make molten chocolate, he tells her, he’s been doing it since he was a boy. He puts the milk on the stove, rummages around in their cabinets for cocoa. </p><p>He stares down at the saucepan, at his spoon as it stirs in steady, slow circles. As the chocolate dissolves bit by bit and turns the milk brown. Paliea’s golden eyes, dull for the very first time since they’d met, haunt him. </p><p>He swears by the Fury he’ll tear Ul’dah apart, burn down that rotten Syndicate and anyone else who had a hand in this. But not until he’s done putting her back together.</p><hr/><p>As he steps through the door to the intercessory he catches the tail end of Alphinaud's soliloquy. The boy is slouched over in his chair, looking more like a grown man with the world on his shoulders than the teenager he ought to be.</p><p>Paliea watches from her spot closer to the fire, her eyes soft once more, a little bit thawed.</p><p>"No one expects you to do it all," she says. "You can't blame yourself for putting trust in people."</p><p><em> That's just like Paliea </em> , he thinks. <em> Putting on her brave face even while her own heart lies in pieces. </em></p><p>He places the three mugs down on the table. </p><p>“So, Master Alphinaud, are you content to remain a broken blade? Is there no flame hot enough to reforge you?” he asks. He casts a sidelong glance at Paliea, at the smile she’s plastered on for the young man’s benefit. “What of the fine companions who yet stand at your side? I daresay the fires of their determination will soon have you slicing the air again with your customary wit!”</p><p>Still he stares at his hands, spirit utterly crushed. That’s true of all three of them - although Alphinaud lacks the world-weariness that allows Paliea to wear it so well.</p><p>“I hardly deserve such friendship,” Alphinaud says. “And besides, where are we to go?”</p><p>Tataru walks forward with timid steps. “Alphinaud, if I may?” she asks. “If this place should not serve our purposes, then… then we shall go to Ishgard! Minfilia told me many times: as long as we stand fast against despair, the beacon of hope will never be lost to sight.”</p><p>Haurchefant takes the moment to look again at Paliea. With the attention now focused away from her, that smile has faltered. She looks tired. He can hardly blame her.</p><p>“Be it in the snow or in the clouds,” Tataru continues, “we few will see that the dawn’s light shines again!”</p><p>As tears well up in Tataru’s eyes, Alphinaud seems to summon a bit of his composure. “You are right, Tataru, thank you,” he says. He looks up at Haurchefant. “And thank you for your kind words, Lord Haurchefant.”</p><p>Alphinaud looks pointedly at Paliea, and any trace of her weariness disappears again behind that veneer of unflappability. </p><p>“‘Tis true that Eorzea yet has her guardians,” Alphinaud continues. “The Scions have achieved much, and ‘twould be remiss of me to discard it all in a fit of self-pity. Let us then resume our journey, together… one step at a time.”</p><p>With that, he stands up, and takes a mug with him. Haurchefant hands a mug to Tataru.</p><p>“You’ve had a long journey,” Haurchefant says. “We can sort out the logistics in the morning.”</p><p>Alphinaud nods. “‘Tis true. I must thank you again for your hospitality, Lord Haurchefant.” Polite as ever. </p><p>“No need,” he answers. “My quartermaster will see you to your rooms, and to any additional requests you might have.”</p><p>His guests turn to leave the intercessory, bracing already for the blizzard that awaits them outside.</p><p>Again Paliea lingers behind, and before he even realizes it he reaches out to stop her from leaving. She half-turns and looks up at him. Her gold limbal rings glint in the light of the hearth, beneath thick, dark lashes.</p><p>Alphinaud stops in the doorway, Tataru a moment later, both with questioning glances. She tears her eyes away from his to address them.</p><p>"Go on ahead, don't wait for me," she says. "I'll be along."</p><p>Satisfied, they walk back into the whirling snow and the door creaks shut behind them.</p><p>And then it's just Haurchefant, Paliea, and the crackle of the fire to fill the silence. </p><p>She holds it in for a moment before her lower lip starts to tremble, and Haurchefant steps forward to scoop her into a hug. Her fingers curl weakly into the links of his mail. When a sob tears itself from her chest he holds her closer, holds her <em> tighter, </em> strokes her soft hair.</p><p>"Talk to me," he whispers. Coaxes.</p><p>"What's there to say?" she mumbles into his chest. "I'm sure you've heard all about it already."</p><p>"I know the facts, yes, but there's a significant gap in my knowledge of the situation," he says. He pulls away from her and wipes the tears off of her cheeks with his gloved thumbs. "I don't know how <em> you're </em> feeling."</p><p>The words take a moment to process, but she barks out an incredulous laugh that borders on hysteria when they finally muddle through. </p><p>"Pretty crappy," she says, though that much is obvious.</p><p>He joins her laugh in sympathy. "Yeah? Pretty crappy?"</p><p>She laughs again, harder, at all of it - the situation, the heartache, the wonderful man that sees right through her - because what else is there to do?</p><p>"Yeah. Pretty crappy."</p><p>She pulls him in for a hug this time, and he wraps his arms fully around her. He leans down and nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck, breathes deep of her hair and skin.</p><p>Any trace of her sweet, floral perfume is long gone, and all that remains is the earthy, musky scent of <em> her. </em> And he finds that he enjoys it quite a bit.</p><p>He leaves a kiss there, then another, and another - feels the vibration under his lips as she hums in contentment. </p><p>“How can I make it better?” he whispers against her. </p><p>She shivers as his breath fans over the wet kisses he’d left, leans further into his touch. “You’re already doing a fantastic job,” she says. </p><p>He moves, leaves a kiss on her jaw and parts from her to say, “I can help you forget, if you’ll permit me. Would you like that?”</p><p>Paliea surprises him, as she always does, and turns her head to slot her mouth fully against his. It’s a deep but brief kiss before she gasps into the space between their breaths, “I’d like that very much.”</p><p>They’re on each other again in an instant, and while Paliea seeks more, her lips and teeth hungry, he does his best to bring her back to his slow pace. He smooths his hands over her shoulders, whispers, “Patience, patience,” against her cheekbone.</p><p>He kisses her once more as he slides his coat off her shoulders, breaks away to lay it flat on the table. </p><p>“Haurchefant,” she says as he loops his arms around her waist. “Don’t, it’ll get dirty!”</p><p>She giggles in tickled delight when he lifts her with ease and sets her down among the furs. It's soft on the backs of her legs, through the criss-cross of her fishnet tights.</p><p>"A coat can be washed, or thrown out," he says, his hands gliding on either side of her. He leans down and kisses her collarbone. "Or, perhaps, saved in the back of one's closet as a private souvenir."</p><p>"Haurche, you dog," she says, though a shy smile graces her lips. </p><p>He kisses lower, on the boning that separates her breasts, lower still to her navel. "But you, my dear, are far more indispensable."</p><p>He drops to his knees before her, catches one of her legs and slides his hands all the way down to her ankle. He leaves a kiss on her kneecap, on her shin, unbuckles the strap of her scuffed patent shoe and gently lifts it off her foot.</p><p>She's been to the seven hells and back in just as many days, but that's what breaks her. Haurchefant giving the same treatment to her other shoe, as delicately as if he were handling a rose petal, is what breaks her.</p><p>He sets them down and off to the side, but when he returns she’s crying. He clambers back up to cup her face in his hands, wipe away her tears with his thumbs. </p><p>“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” he says. “You’re safe now, it’s over.”</p><p>Paliea sniffs, trying to stop, and says, “I know, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.”</p><p>He kisses her on the lips, a sweet and chaste kiss. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Let yourself be vulnerable for me. Let me take care of you.”</p><p>She nods, and he backs away enough to pull off his gauntlets, his chain shirt, and his thermal layer underneath. He wraps the sleeve of his shirt around his hand and gently mops at her tears, then wipes away the smudged makeup under and around her eyes. </p><p>Her lashes are pink underneath, the same soft pink as her hair, and it suddenly hits him that he’s never seen her without them darkened. He wonders if anyone has. </p><p>He abandons his own clothes with far less care, hooks his fingers into the edge of her little pantalettes, and works them down her legs. He has to suppress a grin at the sight of the little bunny tail, just over the hole meant to accommodate her own tail. </p><p>“One day, when this is all behind us,” he says, kisses her ankle as he slips the little panties off, “I’d like to fuck you with most of these things still on. I <em> do </em> find them incredibly adorable.”</p><p>She giggles, breathless. “Have you had fantasies about the lovely Gold Saucer ladies, ser?" she asks. "And here I thought you were a good little Halonic boy."</p><p>He rolls down the top of her tights with great care to not snag them and presses another kiss to her belly. "Ah, but here <em> I </em>thought I'd dispelled that impression the last time you were in my camp."</p><p>“I think I still need convincing,” she says.</p><p>“Well, <em> next time </em> you saunter into my office wearing this little costume,” he says, as he rolls the tights down to her thighs, “I’m going to order everyone out and bend you over my desk, then and there.”</p><p>Her breath catches in her throat at the thought - of him clearing off all the important papers without a single care except for her. “And-and then what?”</p><p>Haurchefant slips the fishnets down to her calves, then to her feet and off of her. “Then, I’m going to grab either side of these and rip them open, as easily as paper.”</p><p>Paliea bites her lip, feels herself growing more wet as her mind plays out this fantasy. “But let me guess,” she says, shaky. “Next time?”</p><p>Haurchefant straightens up and pecks her on the cheek. He folds her tights neatly and places them off to the side, and her little panties on top. “Yes, because you need to walk out of here with your head held high and all your articles of clothing in order.”</p><p>She tries to sneak a hand between her legs but he catches her wrist, kisses it, and lays it back on the table.</p><p>“I’m the only one who should be touching tonight,” he says. “Your only job is to relax for me.”</p><p>She’s so wet, her legs shaking with the anticipation. “Then <em> please </em> touch me,” she whines.</p><p>“Not until I’m finished undressing you,” he answers, unlooping one of her wrist cuffs and starting on the other.</p><p>“Then <em> hurry. </em>”</p><p>He clicks his tongue, reaches under her curtain of hair to untie the bow collar and puts the three accessories in a neat pile. “Impatience will get you nowhere.”</p><p>He gently turns her over, and she tucks her legs up on the table on instinct. His fingers swiftly undo the laces that tie the corset together, and she complies as he lifts it off over her head. </p><p>And then she’s naked before him, save for the novelty headband that’s unreachable with her head bowed the way it is. He longs to flip her back so he can see her face, see her soft, full breasts with their dusty pink nipples.</p><p>But his more immediate urge is to smooth his hands over her pale backside to watch her sigh and shiver and arch herself into his touch. He glides his fingers over the edges of her scales, on her shoulders, at the small of her back, at her hipbones.</p><p>She cants her hips back with a quiet whine of desperation and he obliges her - this is all about her, after all - by sinking two fingers into her wet heat. </p><p>She <em> keens, </em> muffled by his coat, and he pushes them in deeper, curls against her tight walls to hear more of that beautiful sound. He pulls back, pushes in, feels his own cock stir to know, to remember, the vice that she’ll soon have around him.</p><p>He finds the wherewithal to stop long enough to flip her, and when she’s face up once more he has to groan at the sight of her. </p><p>Her face is beautifully flushed, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath, her legs already spread open for him willingly and the center between them dripping with her arousal. He trails his fingers along the insides of her thighs and her breath hitches. <em> So sensitive. </em></p><p>Before he can go any further, though, he takes her hand and gently uncovers her face. </p><p>“Plumeria,” he says, but stops himself. “Do you… do you dislike when I call you that?”</p><p>Paliea’s golden eyes shift to him, pupils blown so wide that her irises are but a thin ring around them. She swallows thickly, but when she speaks her voice still shakes a little.</p><p>“I-I don’t, usually,” she says. “I don’t usually like it. But when you do it, th-the way you do it, I like it.”</p><p>It’s left unsaid, but it’s evident in how she looks at him - a look beyond the lust one might expect of her in this situation, beyond even gratitude for his hospitality… dare he call it <em> love? </em></p><p>“Plumeria,” he says again, and he finds himself slowly addicted to the taste of it on his tongue. “<em> Plumeria. </em>”</p><p>He reaches for the bunny crown headband but she stops him, intertwines her fingers with his.</p><p>“Leave it on,” she says. “You said you thought these costumes were sexy. And you made such a fuss about keeping my clothes clean that I trust you not to mess up my hair.”</p><p>He smiles, softly pins their joined hands above her head, and leans down to kiss her. She breathes in deep when he does, melts a little further into the warmth of his coat. He feels a sense of relief to see that she’s finally starting to relax.</p><p>“Now, stay right there.” He leaves her mouth to trail down her neck, over her collarbone and down between her breasts. Her arms shake and he watches as she almost moves to grab his hair, but resists.</p><p>“Good girl,” he murmurs against her navel. He drops to his knees again, kisses the dip where her thigh meets her pelvis. “Just stay like that. Just stay there and feel it.”</p><p>She rolls her hips up against him, whispers "<em> Please…"  </em></p><p>And he is helpless to do anything but obey.</p><p>He sinks the flat of his tongue between her folds, and her heels dig into his back. She's delicious, slick and musky and he licks a slow line up to her clit, swirls his tongue around the sensitive nub. </p><p>"Oh," she moans, nearly sobs. "<em> Oh, oh…" </em></p><p>One of his hands flattens against her stomach, presses her down to the table and caresses the defined planes of her abdomen with his thumb. The other trails down to her entrance, gathers up her arousal and makes a slow trek inside with two of his thick fingers.</p><p>"Mm," he sighs in contentment - the tight vice of her around his fingers, the hitched breaths that she makes - he could stay here and do this to her forever. </p><p>"Haurche," she pants. When he looks up her eyes are already distant, glassed over in bliss. "More. I want more."</p><p>He lifts himself from her cunt, pistons his fingers deeper into her. He nibbles instead at her outer folds. He notes, with a small flutter of delight, that they're as pink as her lips.</p><p>"No, no!" Paliea cries. She forgets his rule and one hand flies down to nest itself in his hair, tugging with a desperate whine. "Don't stop, Haurche, please--"</p><p>Haurchefant pries her fingers from his hair and stands up once more with his fingers still seated in her, still thrusting deep into her with the slightest curl against the spongy wall of her entrance. </p><p>With his glacier eyes fixed on her golden ones, he presses a kiss to each of her finger pads and places it back over her head with its twin.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she says. Her voice quivers in a way that's not purely from arousal. "I forgot, I didn't mean to--"</p><p>He kisses her to interrupt her apology. Her breaths come heavy through her nose, the next outlet for her pleasure with the obstruction of her mouth as he keeps his relentless pace.</p><p>Haurchefant slips his fingers out of her and pulls away from her lips only to kiss at her jaw, her neck.</p><p>"You don't ever need to apologize to me," he whispers against her. "I don't want anyone to ever make you sorry again."</p><p>He trails kisses down to her collarbone, her breast, reluctant to part from her - but eventually he does stand upright and cleans the slick off his fingers with his tongue.</p><p>"Now, my dear, how would you have me?" he asks. His newly cleaned hand reaches down to stroke his cock, wets his length with the remnants of his own spit.</p><p>Paliea lifts one leg up from the table, further exposing her soaked center to him. Like he'd asked, she keeps her hands above her head though her fingers twitch with the desire to touch herself.</p><p>"Just like this," she pleads. "Right here, just like this."</p><p>He smooths his hand up her thigh and catches her leg beneath her bent knee. He pulls it closer to kiss her kneecap.</p><p>"If that is what my lady wishes, it shall be done."</p><p>He slides his cock against her, pressing hard against her clit as he coats himself with her slick. She keens, arches into him - the most she can do while staying put like she was told. He presses against her entrance, and she already gives so easily to him that it’s an effort to remain slow. </p><p>“Shh, shh,” he says, rubs circles on her hip to soothe her. “Do you trust me to take care of you?”</p><p>Paliea doesn’t answer immediately, instead just tilts her head back against the table with her eyes closed, breathing heavy. </p><p>“Of course. Of course I trust you.”</p><p>He kisses the inside of her knee and places her leg over his shoulder to split her wider. His cock slips a little deeper with the motion. </p><p>“Then don’t chase it,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. Just let me.”</p><p>She nods, and he resumes his slow push forward into her tight heat. She’s so slick that the slide is easy, and she lets out a low moan as he drives all the way in. He braces her leg against his chest, slowly slides out and back in at the same languid pace. </p><p>“How do you feel?” he asks, breathless with the struggle of restraint. “Tell me how it feels.”</p><p>Her lips part, wet and plump and so sweet that he wants to kiss her - but ever patient, he waits for her to speak. </p><p>“So good - <em> mm </em> - Haurche, the <em> stretch, </em> ” she gasps. He hits her so deep, makes her so full, but she wants more. She needs <em> more. </em> “Please, pleasepleaseplease--”</p><p>He kisses her, swallows the sweet sound of her moans, rolls his hips into her just a little faster. Her hands ball into fists, gripping his coat desperately as her tongue moves against his with seemingly no focus other than to just taste him.</p><p>Good. That’s exactly how he wants her, focused only on this moment. Focused only on pleasure. He’d promised to make her forget about the uncertainty and pain that lies just outside the door, to give her the respite she so rightfully deserves, and he intends to make good on his oath. </p><p>The muscles of her abdomen flex, her breathing more ragged against his mouth, and he knows she’s close. As much as he loves to kiss her, as much as he’d missed it these past few months, he wants to hear her as she comes undone and pulls away from her. </p><p>He splays his free hand across her lower stomach, feels the barest movement there as he pushes in, the loss as he pulls out. He presses his thumb to her swollen clit and rubs her in tight, fast circles. </p><p>Her eyes screw shut and she nearly screams, back arching off the table but hands locked in place, a good obedient girl even as the ecstasy is enough to overwhelm her. She clenches around him, impossibly tighter, and as she rides it out he kisses her ankle, her calf, any part of her that he can reach from his position.</p><p>Her moans slowly turn into sighs, her chest heaving as she catches her breath, her eyes distant in exhausted bliss. He lowers her leg from his shoulder and moves to pull out of her - he can finish this on his own time, without soiling her and leaving her uncomfortable for whatever time it takes to grant them access to the amenities of the city. </p><p>Before he can, however, her legs lock behind him, effectively trapping him in place.</p><p>Paliea looks up at him from the tousled bed of her rosy hair with a serene smile that still manages to be mischievous. “Keep going,” she says.</p><p>“Paliea,” he groans in protest, as her cunt still throbs pleasurably around him. “I can take care of myself later. Don’t worry.”</p><p>Her eyebrows raise slightly and she digs in with her heels to push him deeper into her - it knocks him off balance enough that he has to catch himself on the table, his hands on either side of her face. </p><p>“What if I don’t want you to?” she asks, too innocently for the subject matter. She tilts her chin up and treats him to one of her lusty gazes, the kind with enough heat to melt all of Coerthas. “What if I want to fall asleep tonight with your come still warm inside of me? Would you deny me that, <em> my lord? </em>”</p><p>She’s right. He could never deny her anything. He’d planned to sacrifice his body for her pleasure this night, and if this is how she would have him he’s powerless to refuse. </p><p>“If it’s too much, if it hurts,” he says, and kisses the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle.</p><p>“I thought you would know by now, Lord Haurchefant,” she replies. “I’m insatiable.”</p><p>He grins. “So you are.”</p><p>He slides back and thrusts forward, so quickly that it takes her by surprise. Her arms loop around the back of his neck - this time, he doesn’t stop her. How can he, when she looks at him like that? Cheeks flushed, eyes half-closed but still luminous in the dim light. </p><p>He lowers one hand to cup her breast, to graze his thumb over her nipple as his fingers squeeze the soft flesh. She pulls him down further to kiss him again.</p><p>Halone’s tits, he’s getting close. He can’t find the strength of will to stop himself from chasing faster, driving harder, but from the way she moans she doesn’t seem to mind. </p><p>She parts from him for breath, but in the space between something slips from his tongue that he can’t take back.</p><p>“I love you,” he says.</p><p>He didn’t mean to - he doesn’t know how it skipped his filter. She blinks fast, dusty pink eyelashes fluttering, and for a moment the weight in his stomach dampers his building pleasure.</p><p>Then, with a choked sort of laugh, she replies.</p><p>“I love you, too.”</p><p>He could cry. He could sing praise to the Fury, but mostly he just wants to sing praise for the goddess beneath him - Paliea, that fickle mistress of temptation. </p><p>He sings it into her mouth - “I love you, I love you, I love you” - and he imprints it onto her skin in kisses and sweet bruises that will bloom where no one will see them save for her.</p><p>He’s so close to his end that he can reach it if he were to try, but she’s gasping and writhing and he’ll be patient. For her, he’ll be anything. </p><p>“Close?” he asks. </p><p>She nods, forehead pressed against his. “Close. Close. Take me with you, Haurchefant. Come for me, take me with you.”</p><p>An easy order to obey. He holds her close, thrusts once, twice, and then he topples off the edge. He barely registers her orgasm around him, lost as he is in the pleasure of his own. </p><p>Even as it subsides he can’t tear himself away from her embrace, from the gentle sound of her breath in his ear as they both return to reality. </p><p>“Well, Plumeria Paliea, the Insatiable,” he says after he gathers enough energy to do so. “Are you satisfied?”</p><p>She laughs. How he longed to hear that sound, even before she’d walked into his office with her poor tender heart shattered. He’d replayed it in the months they’d been apart, imagined it in the quiet of his quarters and in the chill of the ramparts. </p><p>Paliea rests her cheek against his chest. “Thank you,” she says.</p><p>“Oh, don’t thank me too much. This was as pleasurable for me as it was for you.”</p><p>Her small fingers pinch his cheek. “Haurchie,” she says with a pout. “Not just for the sex. For… everything.”</p><p>“And that was pleasurable for me, too,” he replies. He means it. “I’ll always take care of you.”</p><p>She hugs him in tighter, legs unlocking from around him and instead sliding up and down his sides. </p><p>“I still want to taste your cock, though. You promised.”</p><p>It takes a moment for him to remember it, as heated as their last encounter was, but he laughs when it hits him. </p><p>“Apologies for breaking my word, just this once. It was under… unique circumstances.” He cups her jaw and kisses her again, deep and lazy - a kiss of familiarity, a kiss of naive leisure. “Worry not. From the looks of things, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”</p><p>“And next time?”</p><p>“Next time. We have all the time in the world.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Promises, promises.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Unbroken Promises, Unkept Vows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Um,” she says, tapping the heavy weight of it against her other palm. “Well, it’s obvious what this is. And I hope you’re laughing your ass off up there in the great big hall of Halone.”<br/>-<br/>Haurchefant leaves a promise unfulfilled, and a bard's heart broken.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a necessary warning that this chapter takes a quite drastic turn, tonally, from the previous two.</p>
<p>mind the tags, tw for alcohol use, BRIEF mention/implication of suicide, and general blasphemy/desecration of hallowed ground.</p>
<p>yknow, improper use of political favors and all that. i hope the mythology nerds get a kick out of this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Next time” turns into “later,” turns into “Your dad’s one wall away, Haurche,” turns into “I’m exhausted, let’s just rest tonight.”</p>
<p>And then, like so much sand slipping through an hourglass, the time is gone all at once.</p>
<p>She replays that final opportunity over and over again, as if to acquaint herself with the shade that will haunt her. </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em> “Plumeria and I will await you there,” he had said. The undertone of his voice had been palpable, palpable enough that Estinien must have picked up on it - though if he did, he made no comment. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And it would be a lie to say that she did not feel the same yearning and carnal hunger that had likely kept them both sane during her long journey to Zenith and back, and there and back again.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But when they finally entered the quiet manor, when Haurchefant dragged her into his quarters and kissed her breathless against the wall, he sensed the nature of her heart, as he always did, and paused. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “What troubles you, my dear?” he had asked, breath ragged already from the brief but impassioned kiss.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She had swallowed hard against the moisture in her mouth but the dryness of her throat, forehead against his armored chest.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Haurche, I want this so bad, but I’m exhausted.” It pained her to say it. But there was no mercy from the kami, no premonition to stop her from her doomed course. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> There was no warning bell, no alarum when he replied, with his head bowed low in admission, in silent reverence, “Of course, of course.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She wants there to be something, some indication that the fault lies with her - that she could have fixed it, had she only been more attentive, more reckless, more favored by the kami’s capricious whims - but there is none, though she searches with increased desperation every time she revisits this moment in her dreams. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “You’ve had a long journey,” he continued, and pressed a chaste kiss to the tiara-shaped scale in the middle of her forehead. “Worry not. We’ll set the world right, and we’ll have our rest, and then… And then we can make good on all our promises.” </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Ishgard seems even colder today. Though she tries to banish the thought from her head, she’s unavoidably reminded of that first night in central Coerthas, of the blinding snow and Haurchefant’s deep tracks across the white trek back to Dragonhead.</p>
<p>She pulls her coat tighter around herself, shivers as a bone-deep chill runs through her that has nothing to do with the weather. With the wind howling the way it is she can almost imagine his voice carried on it, his delicate treatment of her name…</p>
<p>“Paliea?”</p>
<p>It’s not Haurchefant’s voice that pulls her from the edge of abyssal grief - it’s Aymeric’s. </p>
<p>The Lord Speaker looks her over, his aether-blue eyes heavy with concern, and something yet deeper. Guilt.</p>
<p>They've told him a hundred, a thousand times that he's not at fault, but he doesn't take the mantra to heart any more than she does. </p>
<p>The look is shared for a moment, in a mutual feeling of grief, as they recall the reason they'd embarked out into the city on this day.</p>
<p>Aymeric stops before the wrought-iron gates, his hesitance to go any further plain on his pretty features. </p>
<p>"The Fortemps plot is the far left corner," he says. He looks to Paliea and seems, in a manner wholly unlike him, to stumble on his words. "Please… take as much time as you need."</p>
<p>She smiles for him, but she knows it doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you for arranging this, Ser Aymeric," she says. "I will be a few hours at least. Why don't you go stroll around the Crozier in the meantime? I'll find you when I'm finished here."</p>
<p>Aymeric bows courteously, though his eyes flick to the picnic basket on her arm in a way that makes her heart jump.</p>
<p>"It was, quite literally, the least I could do, my friend," he says. Then he straightens and departs.</p>
<p>And then she's alone. The wind picks up once more and the chain that holds the gate fast clangs noisily. She turns to look at it, at the imposing fence and the empty cemetery beyond.</p>
<p>It was a non-issue to ask the newly instated Lord Speaker for a personal favor. And as Ishgard’s savior no one raised an objection when she requested a few hours of complete privacy with her dear friend's final resting place. Especially not when the rumors of their… involvement with each other were already old gossip around the Pillars.</p>
<p>She pushes open the gate and forges out into the undisturbed snow. In Ishgard proper they clear the walkways of it but here it crunches beneath her feet, deafening in the silence. </p>
<p>The stillness of it all makes her feel as if she’s supposed to hold her breath as well - like an intruder in this sanctum for the dead. </p>
<p>Weathered epitaphs lie covered in the remnants of frozen flowers; withered trees that must have been left to their fates in the wake of the Calamity line what might be pathways underneath the glacial shroud. </p>
<p>The stone-hewn visage of Halone stares down at her from a mausoleum as she passes, her lifeless gaze uncaring of whether she comes or goes. There’s a pile of snow on the slope of her nose, poised to fall, but it remains there in eternal precariousness.</p>
<p>Paliea walks on.</p>
<p>The edge of the Fortemps plot is obvious, marked by a mausoleum adorned with the unicorn crest. She continues past its entrance, knowing that he would not be allowed the privilege to be laid inside - no matter how Edmont treated him with equal love, some traditions cannot be defied.</p>
<p>Instead she skirts the side to the collection of smaller markers - Greystones of generations past, the forgotten children born of passion and denied by their makers. </p>
<p>The name carved on the closest grave still has its sharp edge, and she clears away a square of snow atop it to find the earth freshly turned. </p>
<p>She sits down in the damp, freezing dirt and presses her hand upon the ground, fingers splayed wide open. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting to happen - to feel some remnant of his soul down there? To sense his presence so far below her, to receive some vision of Hydaelyn that will ease her aching heart?</p>
<p>No, he’s nowhere in this place. This place is too cold, too quiet for him - his body might reside here, but his soul has long departed.</p>
<p>She sets the basket down, forgotten for a moment as her eyes travel, deadened, over his name etched in the stone. <em> Haurchefant Greystone of the Silver Fuller. </em> She can read it over and again, but the letters will hold no more meaning than the first time she’d failed to comprehend them. </p>
<p>Her fist clenches around cold dirt, shaking as another, more volatile feeling overtakes her. </p>
<p>“I’m so… <em> mad </em> at you, Haurche,” she says. It seems stupid at first, talking to no one, but it helps so she keeps going. “Fuck your honor, fuck your <em> knight’s calling </em> or what have you.”</p>
<p>And it’s terrible, a terrible thing to say but she can’t stop herself. </p>
<p>“How could you <em> leave </em> me?” she asks, and there it is, the root of everything. “It’s so unfair that you- you get to just float off in the aetherial sea, and not feel <em> any </em> of it! The grief, and the loss, and, and- and I’m <em> stuck </em> here with it!”</p>
<p>She’s trembling now, her body too small to contain the depth and breadth of the emotions that are vomiting out all at once, having been locked behind a dam for the duration of this whole messy business.</p>
<p>There’s anger, yes, but that’s just displacement and she knows it. She has to blame <em> someone </em> , some <em> thing, </em> because she can solve every problem by beating up whatever’s to blame but there’s no one this time and it’s so infuriatingly meaningless. And the only one who can take the brunt of her fury is the one who deserves it the least.</p>
<p>The guilt and the unbearable emptiness hits her like a solid wall and she has to brace herself on her hands, kneeling on the frigid ground. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, of course it’s not your fault,” she whispers, though there’s no one listen anyway. “But you promised, you said we’d have the rest of our lives to talk and fuck and love, and then you--”</p>
<p>The tears start coming now, burning hot on her frostbitten cheeks. </p>
<p>“And then you saved me, but you killed me,” she says. “The world’s so much colder now without you in it.”</p>
<p>She sits there in silence for a few more minutes, and the wind picks up again as if to punctuate her words. With it, the sobering realization of what she came here to do.</p>
<p>She wants to laugh. She must be crazy. She <em> is </em> crazy, he left her here and he left her crazy without him - and she knew this was crazy from the very first moment that the idea rooted itself in her head, but she tried to shake it and couldn’t. </p>
<p>Paliea flips open the top of the picnic basket and holds the two wine glasses between the fingers of one hand, like her old friend from Wineport had once taught her a lifetime ago. With her other hand she reaches back in for the bottle. </p>
<p>The bottle’s been uncorked and resealed already - a decent red that she’d tasted and decided she wanted to save the rest of for this occasion. She grabs the top of the cork with her teeth and yanks hard until it pulls out with a satisfying <em> pop. </em> She pours a healthy amount into each glass and sets one on the ground in front of his headstone.</p>
<p>She looks down into her own glass and swirls it around morosely. </p>
<p>“I know you like cabs,” she says. “I thought you might like this one.”</p>
<p>She takes a sip, the burn of the wine strong in her nostrils and heavy on her tongue. She takes another, tasting it like you’re supposed to, letting a single drop open up its bouquet upon her tongue.</p>
<p>“It’s nice, isn’t it?” she asks, waves the glass under her nose. “Very dry, bold tannins, and you get a bit of a soury-sweet note. It’s like that expensive one you like. Daniffen’s Joy.”</p>
<p>She drinks deeper, wishing it would intoxicate her faster. It’s unbearable, quite unbearable, to be this sober and talking to a dead man.</p>
<p>“Gods, I wish you were here, Haurche,” she says, and it seems like the most stupid and obvious thing to say but she says it anyway, because it’s true and it hurts. </p>
<p>She drains the rest of the glass, no longer tasting the contents. She tilts the bottle to her lips and gulps down a mouthful of the dark liquid inside, takes a breath, and then the rest. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and reaches back into the basket for the second offering she’d brought.</p>
<p><em> Gods, she must be crazy </em>, she thinks, again. She’s not yet drunk enough for this. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be. </p>
<p>She pulls the length of polished wood from among its nest of linens - smooth, slightly curved, phallic both in shape and girth. Paliea feels suddenly shy, but she’s come all this way and there’s no point in backing out now. Besides, she didn’t bring an actual picnic and she’d have no idea what to do with the remainder of the hours. </p>
<p>“Um,” she says, tapping the heavy weight of it against her other palm. “Well, it’s obvious what this is. And I hope you’re laughing your ass off up there in the great big hall of Halone.”</p>
<p>She has to laugh herself, a little, as the first sips of the wine start to seep into her clarity. </p>
<p>“You’ll remember that you have some promises left to keep,” she says. Her voice cracks a bit on the edge of a hysterical laugh. “I must have tried a half dozen stores, and this is the closest… approximation I could find. Of you.”</p>
<p>She runs a hand up the length of it, wraps her fingers around its girth to find that there’s about a half ilm of space between them closing. She slides up to the tip, flared a bit wider from where the shaft tapers, just like the thick head of his cock. </p>
<p>Paliea had this all planned, she knows the script, and yet she finds herself hesitating. She licks her lips but the cold wind instantly dries them again, and she swallows against a parched throat. It’s freezing here, and she’s bone dry underneath her leggings, and there’s no way she can--</p>
<p>But she almost feels him then. Or, equally likely, it’s the rest of the wine catching up to her - but she knows, or remembers, <em> exactly </em> what he would do if he were witness to her stage fright. </p>
<p>He would take her hand. Kiss it gently, so gently that she’d feel like a maiden in some fanciful storybook. And say, in that honeyed voice of his, <em> It’s all right, Plumeria. Try it again, if you’d like. </em></p>
<p>She reaches forward for his glass, the stem of it freezing between her fingers, and raises it to her lips. </p>
<p>“Well, if you’re not going to drink it,” she says, and tips her head back to drink it all in one go.</p>
<p>The world starts to swim before her eyes and she sets the glass down in the snow next to its twin. She clumsily, hastily, undoes the buttons on her coat, and then on her blouse. The cold shocks her sober enough to remember the next step.</p>
<p>She raises herself up on her knees with the base of the dildo in the palm of one hand, the heat of the wine already starting to overpower the bite of the wind. She stares down at his engraved name, but that’s not where he is. No, no, she searches back and forth for him and finally settles on the earth beneath her.</p>
<p>“You promised I could taste you,” she says. The drink has eaten at her shame - <em> this </em> is what she had wanted, this desperate final act. “Twice you promised me that, and I thought it only fair to let you keep it.”</p>
<p>She opens her mouth wide, closes her eyes as she guides the tip of the wood to press down on her tongue, further in until it clacks on her teeth and she has to open her jaw wider to fit it. She tries to imagine that it’s him, that the unforgiving wood is the soft velveteen of his skin, tries to imagine the flavorless laminate is <em> his </em> taste, or what she’d always imagined he’d taste like.</p>
<p>It shouldn’t be this hard to imagine - how many nights did she spend malms apart from him imagining it in the dark of her room, sucking desperately on her own fingers just to feel skin on her tongue?</p>
<p>She pushes the wood in deeper, until it bumps hard against the roof of her mouth. Then she angles it so she can go further, until it hits the back of her throat and she gags wetly around it. </p>
<p>If Haurche was there he’d be carefully twining his fingers into her hair by now. He’d be breathing shallow, thighs trembling as he honorably fights to restrain himself from thrusting and choking her. </p>
<p>But when she relaxes the vice of her throat and takes him deeper - as she does - he would moan openly, unable to contain it any longer, and his hips would gently, <em> worshipfully, </em> roll forward. </p>
<p>He would apologize, in the midst of some litany of mindless praises, and in turn she would dig into the flesh of his legs with her nails, moan around him as a reminder - <em> I am not fragile. I am not porcelain, and you know this. </em> She moans around him even now, falling deeper into the fantasy.</p>
<p>And then, <em> then, </em> reassured by her, he would finally begin his careful entry, his slow retreat. She bobs down to meet him, to encourage him faster, deeper, she can take it. For him, she can take anything.</p>
<p>She pushes the dildo faster as she sinks down to meet it, one hand reaching up to massage her breast through her lacy brassiere, a thick strand of her drool winding its way down the base of the wood, down her chin to drip onto the valley of her breasts. </p>
<p>The sound is obscene in the dead quiet of the cemetery, but in her head it’s among a symphony of Haurche’s gasps and moans, replayed from her memory, dredged up from her locked heart by way of the wine. </p>
<p>She pushes it all the way in, as far as it will go, and holds it there until her lungs burn for air. She holds it past that, thinking briefly that this wouldn’t be such a bad way to die. Although she’d hate to leave Aymeric with the political mess of it.</p>
<p>She allows her throat to push the dildo out, and her body automatically gasps for her. The frozen air burns her lungs as surely as the lack of it, and as the ragged breaths come she finally opens her eyes to see the languid trail of spit that hangs from the tip of the wooden cock. </p>
<p>But there’s no Haurchefant. The warmth of him, the sound and taste and feel of him that she’d imagined was just that. A memory. A phantom. She can’t bear it.</p>
<p>She plants the cock into the ground, wiggles it deep enough into the churned earth for it to stay upright on its own, and the world still swims. From the alcohol, yes, but now also from the tears that have started to fall freely from her eyes, searing and freezing on her cheeks.</p>
<p>Her breathing doesn’t, <em> can’t </em> calm. Does she need the air? Or is she sobbing now, and too blessedly numb to know it?</p>
<p>She rolls her leggings down as far as her boots will allow, but her ass is too frozen already to register its nakedness. She shifts forward on her knees to lower herself onto her hands, then down to her elbows.</p>
<p>She presses her lips to the base of the slick wood where it meets the dirt, cold already without the heat of her mouth to breathe life into it. She makes the mistake, however, of looking up - for it’s only his name that looks back down on her. </p>
<p>She fixes her gaze on the ground once more and lifts herself up to press her lips against the hard, unforgiving head of the dildo. She breathes out against it, closes her lips around it like a kiss and tilts her head to the side to run the flat of her tongue down its length.</p>
<p>“I need you here,” she says, voice hoarse with tears and with the abuse of her throat. “Please, please, I need you here, I can’t do this without you.”</p>
<p>With her lips at the tip once more, she repositions so her elbows are out, her hands turned inward to hold the dildo at its base and give her enough leverage to lower her mouth down onto it. She has to gag a bit when it hits her throat, wiggle her head enough to work it down, but eventually she finds herself with her nose touching the cold dirt.</p>
<p>The realization of the position she’s in makes her choke around this dead… <em> object </em> that is not him, no matter how she pretends. </p>
<p>Prostrated like this, knees tucked under her, forehead to her hands and hands on the floor. It’s the Doman bow, the one performed for her ancestors every harvest moon. If she had grown up in Doma, they would have done this at those gravesites and not to a humble shrine set up in the courtyard.</p>
<p>
  <em> A rite for the dead. </em>
</p>
<p>And it’s not-- it’s wrong, it’s not what she wanted, and she’s running out of breath. She lifts herself off, enough for her to breathe, before she forces herself back down. And again. And again.</p>
<p>She tries to reconjure that image of him, that taste and feel that had felt so real for a moment, but even when she closes her eyes, even when she sucks as fervently as she would him, all she tastes is wood and all she feels is empty.</p>
<p>Empty.</p>
<p>She sits upright, her whole frame now shaking with the force of her crying, and doesn’t waste any time in crawling to straddle the wet dildo, pulls her panties to the side and presses the tip against her entrance.</p>
<p>It’s not very wet nor ready, but the cock is slick with her spit so she grits her teeth and pushes herself down onto it anyway, very slow going with both its size and her lack of preparation. And it hurts, it burns, not like it would if it was him. </p>
<p>Haurche wouldn’t have even tried to fuck her if he hadn’t already eaten her, or fingered her, or made her come in some completely unconventional way - even though she would assure him time and again that she could take it.</p>
<p>But this isn’t Haurche. This is her desperation and a dead cock made of dead wood, and even when she closes her eyes and tries once more, vainly, to pretend, it’s unnatural and hard inside of her. And cold.</p>
<p>Warmed from her own heat, yes, but not warm in the way a body is warm. It steals her own warmth - barely, gradually - to be the simulacrum she desires. But she doesn’t have enough left to give, and still it falls short. </p>
<p>She sobs audibly, and covers her mouth to stifle the ugly sound. </p>
<p>“Haurchefant, Haurchefant,” she mumbles into her hand. She can’t feel him anymore, even though she’s reaching and reaching, reaching until her arms break. She’s slipping out of that blissful trance, sobered by this terrible, unwanted epiphany that she keeps shoving away.</p>
<p>Something falls from above and rolls to a stop at her knee, and she pauses her labored attempts to fit the dildo inside of her to scoop it out of the dirt, wipe the snow crust off of its surface.</p>
<p>It’s a fig. Small, wrinkled, frostbitten. </p>
<p>She looks up and sees that the tree above her is an old, old fig tree, its age obvious in its many twists and knots and thick, mature branches. But the few remaining leaves are withered and dry, and its trunk is a sickly grey. </p>
<p>The fact alone that it had survived five years of eternal winter is a testament to its strength, but it’s clear that its strength is finally failing. Nothing can grow here.</p>
<p>She looks back down at the fig in her hand and smooths her thumb across its shriveled surface, and she realizes the drunken fog is gone. </p>
<p>Whatever spell she’d put herself under is broken, and she’s just a cold, lonely girl with a dildo halfway in her. </p>
<p>The cold bites now that the heat of her passion has fled, but she can’t find the wherewithal to redress herself. Somehow she doesn’t mind it so terribly anymore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for coming along this journey with me! if you like my work please leave a kudos and a comment (: they make me happy</p>
<p>you can find me on twitter @ppaliea and on tumblr @biracialclaude &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>